In the Early Mourning
by Angst Is My Middle Name
Summary: Set just after 'Abyssinia, Henry'. How is the camp reacting to Henry's death? Here are my thoughts. Rated for language.


_**Hello all! Just a few things... First of all, yes I know, this is completely different version of events of another story I have up here. Please bear with me. Sometimes, I go on little writing tangents, and my muse becomes an unmanageable brat. I can't choose what I write... it just sort of happens. Two, I'm sorry if some characters seem a bit OOC, but they are grief-stricken, and people are very different when these events occur. But enough of my talking... On with the story!**

* * *

Lt. Col. Henry Blake's plane was shot down over the Sea of Japan. It spun in. There were no survivors._

.x.X.x.

Major Frank Burns stepped into the office once occupied by Henry Blake. It was bare of personal effects, and all the lights were off; Frank turned them on. A thrill he wished he could've controlled ran through him as he looked around the empty office. That desk was his now. That chair. _This room_. No longer would he have to put up with the shenanigans of Pierce and McIntyre. The 4077th would now be run _his_ way. There was a sudden movement, and he jumped. Radar came in.

"What do you want, runt?" Frank sneered.

"I dunno. I guess I just wanted to come into Col. Blake's office and set for a while. Just to… to remember him."

"Well, it's my office now, and I have to prepare for command, so scram!"

Tears welled up in the young corporal's eyes at the major's words. Frank almost felt a little bit bad… almost.

"You heard me, SCRAM!" he shouted.

Radar snapped. He sounded like a small child throwing a tantrum.

"It's not your office! It's Col. Blake's office! You're just a big stupid fink! And I hate you! I hate you Maj. Burns! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"

He then ran out of the office, stifling his sobs. Frank watched him go, and then busied himself with settling in. He did not hear the door open.

.x.X.x.

Major Margaret Houlihan saw Frank headed for the Lt. Col.'s office and became intrigued. Her curiosity peaked when she Radar running away, tears pouring down his face. When she waked into the office, she saw Frank making himself at home.

"Frank, what are you doing?"

"Preparing for command, Margaret. Someone has to take charge."

"We just heard about his death. Can't it wait?"

"Things won't get done."

"Come on, Frank. Even you need time to grieve. We all do. Just wait!"

"I won't, Margaret! I've been waiting for this chance!"

"You've been waiting for this?! How _dare_ you say that! You make it sound as though you've always wanted him to drop dead! Don't speak to me, Frank! _Don't you dare speak to me_!"

Margaret stormed out, not caring about Frank's stunned silence. She marched back to her tent, trying not to cry. She didn't even notice the priest she almost walked into in her rage.

.x.X.x.

Father Francis Mulcahy nearly fell when Maj. Houlihan stormed past him. He steadied himself and looked around. Usually, you could always hear laughter and shouting. There was always a basketball game going on if the weather permitted it, and the men and women could be seen playing volleyball on occasion, too. Despite the blood and the wounds and the death, the 4077th was a happy place. Now… now it was a place of grief and sadness. Instead of laughter, the priest heard weeping. Fr. Mulcahy retreated to his tent, unable to bear the grief of others while he struggled with his own.

Suddenly, he began to weep. What if no one recovered the body of Henry Blake? What if Henry didn't receive the Last Rites? The priest did not want his friend condemned to purgatory or worse. Fr. Mulcahy immediately began to pray. He found himself begging God for Henry's acceptance into Heaven. He was angry. All he could do was sit on his cot and cry and pray and rock back and forth, and it made him angry.

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

Fr. Mulcahy went to go see what the commotion was about.

.x.X.x.

It took every bit of strength Capt. "Trapper" John McIntyre possessed to keep Hawkeye from leaping at Frank and every bit of self control to keep himself from doing the same. Hawkeye let out a long string of obscenities directed at the Major. Trapper held on despite Hawkeye struggling.

"YOU ASSHOLE!" the dark haired captain bellowed, "YOU STUPID, FUCKING PRICK! YOU DON'T EVEN CARE THAT HE'S DEAD, DO YOU?! I'LL BET YOU'RE HAPPY ABOUT, YOU MOTHER-GRABBING BASTARD! YOU'RE HAPPY!"

Hawkeye tried to squirm away some more, but Trappers hold around his waist was too strong. Frank apparently got the hint and scurried back into the office. There was then a terrible shouting match from within the building, after which Radar ran out, crying once more.

.x.X.x.

Cpl. Maxwell Klinger intercepted the clerk.

"Hey, Radar, what's wrong? C'mon kid, tell me."

"Maj. Burns is mean and horrible and awful! I don't even think he's a human anymore! He's not even sad that Col. Blake died, and I hate him!"

Radar pulled away and ran off. Klinger stood confused for a moment before walking into the clerk's office. Papers were strewn about, small objects looked as though they had been smashed, and there was a general air of a rage-filled tantrum having occurred. Radar obviously had grief issues. He'd never seen the kid so angry. He must've gotten upset and began throwing things.

_Must be why Maj. Burns was yelling_, Klinger thought.

After some thought, the Lebanese decided to clean up a little. He could only imagine Radar's grief. The poor kid had been sad to see the man leave; the death must've broken his heart. Klinger felt the strong urge to go in and have words with the major for yelling at Radar, but he found that the thought of the man made him feel sick.

.x.X.x.

Cpl. Walter "Radar" O'Reilly didn't want to speak to anybody right now. He looked on quietly as Klinger walked by, coming from the office with a look of disgust on his face. He'd never been so sad in his whole life. He'd been very little when his father died, so he never really understood what it felt like to have a loved one pass away; he wished he didn't know. His chest hurt. His face was always wet from crying. His nose was all itchy from blowing it. He hated it. And he hated Maj. Burns most of all for not being upset. He wanted to hit him in his rat face. Hawkeye was mad at him, too. Radar had heard when Hawkeye was screaming bad words at the Major, and he was sort of happy that everyone else hated him. He was sure that Col. Blake hated him, too.

_Col. Blake_…

The thought of the man who had become his surrogate father pushed him to tears once more. He tried to keep his crying as quiet as possible, but Trapper must've heard him because he came over.

"Radar? That you?" he asked timidly; he must've heard about the tantrums, "You alright?"

The clerk shook his head quickly. Trapper looked down at his boots, then back at Radar.

"Would come back to the Swamp? Hawk's all messed up. He won't… _talk_. To _anyone_. Not even me."

Radar gazed up at him for a moment. He knew that Trapper was sad because Hawkeye was upset and got up to join him. Upon entering the Swamp, he could see Hawkeye curled up on the cot, his back to the world; he didn't even acknowledge their presence. The clerk looked on as Trapper tried to get his fellow captain's attention. Hawkeye ignored every attempt. From his own name to jokes and gibes. Tear's rolled down Trapper's cheeks at his companion's lack of response. Radar looked on sadly.

.x.X.x.

Trapper John began to cry. He just couldn't understand why Hawkeye wouldn't speak to him. He stood above the raven-haired man for a moment, staring down at him, weeping silently. Suddenly, he began shouting.

"How dare you?! How can you do this to me?! To _everyone_?! Talk to me, dammit! Talk to me!"

His voice cracked, and he reached out for his friend. As soon as his fingers grazed Hawkeye's arm, th e dark-haired captain flinched away without a word. Trapper touched him again. This time, Hawkeye turned to face him so quickly that Trapper jumped. He shouted, "Just leave me the fuck alone!"

Trapper stared at him as though he'd been slapped. Radar stifled a sob behind him, while Hawkeye glared venomously at the two of them, his face glazed with tears.

"Hawk," Trapper murmured at last, tears rolling down his face, "I just wanna help you. I just want you to talk to me. Please, Hawkeye, please… just-"

"SHUT UP!"

Hawkeye was on his feet in an instant. Both Radar and Trapper took a few steps back. The raven-haired man was breathing heavily, his chest heaving. Tears streamed from his eyes, and he yelled at them.

"_How dare you_! How dare you accuse me of _anything_ right now! I hurt just as much as the both of you! Don't you come in here and start berating me, Trap! I won't take it! I-I c-c-an't take th-this an-any-"

He then broke down sobbing.

.x.X.x.

Capt. Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce didn't think he could ever feel as much pain as he did now ever again. Not since the death of his mother, Angela. Maybe when his father died, but not until then. The death of Lt. Col. Henry Blake should not have affected him this much. All he wanted to was cry and ignore everyone. No one could him feel better, now. He flinched as Trapper touched him once more, but it wasn't from meanness this time. Arms, Trap's arms, wrapped around him. He leaned into the trembling body that held him close. The blonde above him sobbed as well, clutching him tightly.

_Why Henry? Why him, God? He was so good, so sweet, so kind. Why Henry Blake? _

Hawkeye heard himself say aloud, "Why Henry?" over and over and heard Radar crying somewhere in the tent. He just clung to Trapper John, sobbing and rocking. He reached out, groping blindly for Radar, wishing for him to come closer. Someone fell into him, shaking and crying loudly, and Hawk knew it was Radar. He and Trapper each put an arm around the boy, all trying to comfort one another at once. Eventually, the two captains ceased sobbing, silent tears continuing to fall. Only Radar wept loudly now. Hawkeye gently pressed Radar's head to his shoulder with one hand, while Trapper slowly stroked his back. He could not imagine Radar's pain. If one person could say they were close to Henry Blake, it would be Radar O'Reilly.

_Poor, poor Radar_, Hawkeye thought, _I wish I could do more_.

.x.X.x.

Radar O'Reilly barely noticed Fr. Mulcahy entering the tent and asking for Trapper. He did not acknowledge Trapper's exit. He only felt Hawkeye tightening his grip around him. Between sobs, Radar would stammer out words, sometimes unintelligible, sometimes heartbreakingly understandable. Hawkeye continued to hold him close, whispering words of comfort Radar didn't believe at all.

"It'll be okay, Radar," he said, "I promise you. Everything's gonna be alright. It'll be okay."

Radar just kept leaning into him, clutching his sleeves and arms. Everything would _not_ be okay. It would never be okay.

"We'll be okay. Everything's gonna be okay," Hawkeye choked out.

_No… it won't be okay… it will never be okay. _Never.

* * *

**_Please hit the magical review button. It makes my muse happy, and when my muse is happy, I write good things... which in turn makes YOU happy. _**


End file.
